


The Colour Green

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU - Futureverse, Drabble, First Meetings, IDK France as an artist sounded cool to me, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been years since Francis last saw even a speck of green.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colour Green

The atmosphere was heavy from the still lingering rain, the sky painted the colour of television tuned to a dead channel. Francis was idly strolling down the deserted streets of Paris, his camera hanging from his neck in case anything caught his eye. It was currently six am, and he had plans to spend the day in his studio down in La Bastille.

The store owners and merchants were just opening up, setting up stands and taking out their wares. They would occasionally wave when Francis passed them, to which he would respond with a polite nod. Some were far too preoccupied to acknowledge him, and that was fine because he really wasn't anything special anyways.

The year was 3578.

Flowers still hung in baskets from the widows and roofs of the houses lining the streets, but they seemed to have lost their charm, their once vibrant colours dull, like an old painting. The trees were alive and well, but they had fewer leaves that fell even in the middle of summer. Natural grass was considerably scarcer to find, and because of that, lab engineered grass had replaced it.

This type of scenery had become the norm in Paris, and Francis couldn't even recall the last time he had seen sunshine, or even a forest, for that matter. Hell, he even had to think for a while to recall the colour green! It was quite ironic how he, as both photographer and artist, despised the landscape. 

Francis shivered and wrapped his long overcoat closer around himself, adjusting his scarf so it would cover more of his neck as well. Summer was nearly over and fall was quickly settling in, bringing with it the harsh winds and dry, cold air. Today wasn't so bad though; the temperature was still above zero and there was only a slight breeze. Before long, Francis found himself immersed in his own thoughts, lulled by his uneventful surroundings.

_I wonder, what would mon petit Matthieu think of Paris now?_ He wondered absentmindedly to himself, not really paying attention to the world around him. _I doubt he'd want to return anyways, but I hope he's doing fine in Canada without his frère to protect him... Ah, I wish we could return to those innocent days where we would just fool around all day..._

So lost in his own musings, Francis had unintentionally tuned out the rest of the world, effectively impairing him from avoiding the collision with another as he rounded a street corner. 

“Hey, watch it you wanker!” 

He stumbled back, just barely managing to keep his balance.“Ah- désolé mon ami, je n'en ai pas vu...” He hastily apologized. The man in question was on the ground, rubbing his shoulder, which had been hit in his fall. He sported a beige cardigan and a red tie, along with dark brown pants and black leather boots, laced up neatly. The only feature of his head visible was his mop of unruly blond hair, cut messily and even more messed up thanks to the fall. 

“... I don't suppose you can speak English, young man?” The man asked as Francis extended his hand to help him up. He ignored it and picked himself up. 

Francis was surprised. It wasn't everyday that you'd see a Englishman in Pairs. Tensions were high enough between the two old rival nations to keep people of both away from each other. Nevertheless, Francis attempted to act friendly. “Ah, yes, I do as a matter of fact. I don't suppose you are French, are you? The English seldom come here anymore...” He trailed off as he got a good look at the others' face, now that he was off the ground. 

His features were angular and sharp, with high cheekbones and a definitive jawline. His cheeks were tinted a slight rose pink from the cold, as was the top of his (perfect) nose. All in all, he was a very attractive man.

But Francis' eyes were drawn to somewhere else.

His eyes.

They were a deep, emerald green that shimmered like the gemstone itself, seeming to reel Francis in, tempting him. It had been so long since Francis had seen such a vibrant green, and he longed to capture it in a photo. No, a picture would not do such beauty justice; he doubted he could mix the right shade of paint for it either. 

But then he looked a little above the Englishman's eyes, and saw the most hilarious _things_ ever.

The man's eyebrows were dark brown in colour and almost thicker than a thicket of roses. Francis was caught between laughing and admiring, or just simply doing nothing at all. 

“Done staring?”

He was suddenly snapped back to reality by the man's crisp voice. “Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to – I mean, I wasn't...” He stuttered, embarrassed.

Eyebrows (as Francis had decided to call him for now) waved his hand dismissively. “It's fine. Well, I'll be off now.” He quipped.

And with that, he walked past Francis and into the street which was beginning to fill up with people, leaving a very confused and flustered Frenchman and his camera.

**Author's Note:**

> Really quick drabble I did and never posted anywhere... Why not here, eh? Hope you enjoyed it~


End file.
